


Playing With Fire

by hermybookworm



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 07:00:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3372125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermybookworm/pseuds/hermybookworm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The truth is in the past, but Minerva is still haunted by her choices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing With Fire

_September 6, 1937_

 

Potions was turning out to be Minerva's least favorite class. Professor Slughorn, while he was a nice man, seemed much too carefree about a class that could have disastrous consequences if even one person did something wrong. And for some unfathomable reason, he had decided that assigning Gryffindors and Slytherins to work together in pairs was a good idea.

Minerva had only been at Hogwarts for a few days, but she knew that that was most definitely _not_ a good idea.

The professor paired her with a thin, black-haired boy. When Minerva dragged a chair up next to their cauldron, she saw that he had already started on the Swelling Solution they were supposed to be making. The boy paused and put down the jar of puffer-fish eyes to look at her.

"Hello," Minerva said, a little apprehensive. "I'm Minerva McGonagall." She held out her hand. If she was going to have to work with him, she figured she'd at least try to be friendly first.

The boy shook her hand after only a second of hesitation. "Tom Riddle," he said, and smiled. It didn't quite reach his eyes. Tom turned back to the cauldron and dumped the puffer-fish eyes in.

"You need more."

"What?" Tom turned back to her, the smile gone.

Minerva gestured at the textbook, which was lying open on the table in front of them. "You only put five eyes in there. You need seven."

Tom blinked at her and then smiled again. It seemed a bit more genuine this time. "Right, of course. Here, you do it." He handed her the jar. "I'll go get the bat wings."

Minerva watched him as he walked, nodding at every other Slytherin and smirking at a few. They all looked at him with admiration, like he was a god that had graced them with his presence. But why? Tom didn't seem to be anything special. A little arrogant, maybe, but all Slytherins were arrogant. And yet, he seemed willing to cooperate with her, despite the rivalry their Houses shared.

Minerva didn't know what to make of him.

 

_November 21, 1940_

 

"Look at them, all crowded around him like that. They all think he's their best friend, but you just _know_ he hates all of them." Minerva glared across the Great Hall at the Slytherin table. Tom sat with his housemates all around him, laughing at their jokes and telling them stories and making them love him.

Lucy followed Minerva's gaze and rolled her eyes, taking a huge bite of her chicken. "I heard he knows more dark magic than all the professors combined," she said, her voice muffled by the food.

Minerva continued to stare at Tom, trying to understand how one person could be so slimy and still fool everyone at Hogwarts--professors included--into loving him.

Tom looked up, and just like that, they were staring each other down. His friends didn't notice or care that he wasn't listening to them, and kept chattering away. He held her gaze for ten seconds, smiling like he knew something she didn't. Minerva stared at him, daring him to act. He looked away.

 

_October 4, 1941_

Usually Minerva didn't mind patrolling the corridors. She was a Prefect after all; it was her job. But whenever the notice board informed her that she was sharing patrol duty that night with a certain Slytherin Prefect, she wasn't so content.

Unfortunately, tonight was one of those nights.

The two Prefects met up in the entrance hall and wordlessly began their preplanned route around the castle. For the first five minutes, neither of them spoke, but Minerva could feel him looking at her.

"Happy birthday." She jumped and looked over at Tom, who was smirking.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She sped up slightly so she wouldn't have to see his smug expression.

"How does it feel to be sixteen?"

"Well, you wouldn't know, would you?" Minerva couldn't help spitting the comment at him.

He put a hand to his heart. "I didn't think you'd know my birthday."

"I didn't think you'd know mine."

"It's not exactly MI5 around here."

Minerva sighed. "No, I suppose it isn't."

"I got you a present."

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"No, really," he said, a grin devouring his features. "Close your eyes."

"You must think I'm some kind of idiot," she said and continued walking.

He caught up with her. "Oh, come on, Minerva."

She stopped and put her hands on her hips.

"I can't give you your present if you have your eyes open."

"And why not?" There was no way she was closing her eyes. She'd trust Peeves before she ever trusted Tom Riddle.

"It would ruin the surprise, of course."

"I'm not a big fan of surprises."

But he just smiled at her with those white teeth and that perfectly mussed black hair, not saying a word. _Oh, Merlin_ , she thought, _what have I gotten myself into?_ She closed her eyes.

And when he kissed her, she thought that maybe Prefect patrol with the Slytherins wasn't so bad after all.

 

_June 14, 1942_

 

"I just can't believe it." Minerva shook her head. "Myrtle didn't deserve to die like that."

Tom took her hand. They were sitting in a broom closet, so it wasn't like anyone would see them, but Minerva was still nervous. She didn't care what people thought, not really, but she knew a lot of her friends saw Tom as someone to be feared, and she didn't want them to be scared of her just because they were together. And anyway, she didn't want to make trouble for Tom. His friends would lose respect for him if they knew he was with a Gryffindor. Stupid, but there you go.

"It's horrendous." Tom squeezed her hand. "But they took him away. He can't hurt anyone again."

Minerva swallowed the lump in her throat. It just didn't make sense. Hagrid had never been anything but nice to everyone, and it was hard to believe this was happening. But she couldn't voice her doubts, especially not to Tom, who had caught Hagrid in the act. To doubt Hagrid's guilt was to doubt Tom, and Minerva trusted him more than she wanted to admit.

He leaned down and kissed her. She forced her doubts into the darkest corner of her mind and let herself enjoy the moment.

"It's okay," Tom said when they separated, and smiled at her. "You're safe now."

 

_June 28, 1942_

 

Minerva winced as the Levitation Charm faltered and her trunk fell to the floor with a crash, the contents spilling everywhere. She sighed. She'd always been better at Transfiguration than Charms.

Resigning herself to cleaning it all up by hand, Minerva knelt on the floor and started pulling piles of clothes toward her bed. As she swept her arms around trying to gather as much at once as she could, her hand hit something hard and oddly shaped. Frowning, Minerva let go of the huge pile of clothes and felt around for the strange object.

She found the leather-bound book under a couple of cat-patterned sweaters her mother had knit for her. Minerva sat back on her heels and examined the book. She was surprised to see T. M. RIDDLE engraved on the front, and wrestled with herself for a moment before letting it fall open.

After reading the first page, she abandoned her trunk and finished the journal in an hour.

Tom wrote her twelve letters that summer. She didn't write back.

 

_September 1, 1942_

 

The train was packed by the time Minerva boarded it, but she had no trouble finding Tom's compartment. She could feel the lies radiating off of him.

She didn't knock before pushing open the door. There he was, laughing at some kid's joke like he hadn't killed a girl just a few months ago, like he wasn't just hanging out with these people because they were Purebloods, like he wasn't trying to cheat death.

He looked up, and for a moment all she could see was his face, smiling at her. And then he saw her expression, and everything shattered.

"You can have this back, _Lord Voldemort._ "

She hurled the journal at his face and slammed the compartment door behind her when she left.

 

_December 25, 1943_

 

Minerva adjusted her Head Girl pin and straightened her shoulders. It was time for the Christmas Feast. There wouldn't be many people there. She'd gone home for Christmas last year, but this year she was Head Girl. She was needed here at Hogwarts.

 _He_ always stayed over Christmas. She knew better than anyone that he had nowhere else to go, and being Head Boy, he couldn't go back to London even if he wanted to. This was the first time they would be closer than a room's length since last year on the train.

Minerva took a deep breath and headed down to the Great Hall, ready to ignore Tom Riddle like her life depended on it.

As far as she knew, it did. 

 

_August 3, 1946_

 

Minerva smiled at the letter in her hands, wondering when she would have enough days off in a row to go visit Douglas. She couldn't tell him where she was, of course; he didn't know she was anything more than just another Muggle girl from a small town.

Someone bumped into her shoulder, and the letter fluttered to the ground. She rolled her eyes and bent down to pick it up. When she looked back to glare at whoever had so rudely interrupted her, she froze, two very familiar dark eyes meeting her gaze.

It was him, but... something was different. He looked thin, almost gaunt, and a long chain hung around his neck, attached to a small locket with a curly _S_ etched onto the front. He'd never worn jewelry at Hogwarts.

He didn't say anything, and neither did she. She'd vowed never to speak to him again, after all, but when she started to walk away, he touched her shoulder lightly. Minerva shuddered and turned to face him, trying to send waves of hate in his direction.

"You didn't tell anyone." Even his voice was different, higher, colder. She just glared at him. "Thank you," he said.

And he walked his way, and she walked hers. 

 

_June 28, 1956_

 

Minerva jumped at the footsteps that echoed off the walls of the castle. She watched as Tom Riddle slowed and stared her down. It had been ten years since they'd been in the same place, and thirteen since they'd both been at Hogwarts. _What is he doing here?_

"I applied for the Dark Arts job," he said, as if he were reading her mind, and didn't move.

"Good for you."

"I didn't get it."

"Good for me."

He looked like he wanted to say something else, but shook his head and continued down the stairs. Minerva took a deep, shaky breath and continued packing her suitcase. She considered what it would be like at Hogwarts if he was working there, corrupting the students and gaining access to all the secrets the castle held. The thought made her slam the suitcase shut with a little more force than was necessary. Minerva left the castle without saying goodbye to anyone.

 

_May 2, 1998_

 

Harry Potter stared down Lord Voldemort, taunting him with his old name. Minerva's fingernails bit into her palms, her knuckles white around her wand. How desperately she wanted to help Potter, to show Voldemort what he had lost.

Two spells were cast simultaneously, red and green meeting each other in an explosion of sparks. The wand flew from Voldemort's hand and into Harry's.

In the space of a millisecond, Voldemort went from living to dead, his eyes forever unseeing.

Minerva felt tears beginning to well up in her eyes, but not, as she had feared, from sadness. No, this was pure joy. She joined the mob that swarmed the body, letting her tears fall freely.

It was clear now. Tom Riddle had died long before she'd met him.


End file.
